Messy
by super manako sohma
Summary: Christophe's got a messy way of doing things. Warning: blood, decaying death and slash. ChristophexGregory


Mana here. I write this while eating Nutella-smothered crepes and tea. Just to get in the feeling of ChristophexGregory. This is my first shot at something rated M, just to warn you. Sorry it may not seem as accurate, keep in mind I have never seen a decaying body. I've only seen cat innards from when we dissected cats in anatomy. Warnings go out to those not liking dead things, but if I didn't throw up while writing this, you probably won't while reading this.

Messy

Gregory breathed a sigh of relief when he had awoken that morning to find Christophe curled up on his side of the Cal-King bed, fast asleep. Granted he was covered with mud and blood and Gregory would have to change the sheets for the fifth time that week, but he was always thankful that he never had to wake up alone.

Even though he and Christophe were living together, Gregory was used to going to bed alone. Christophe was out on a lot of nights either on a mission or just with an urge to have an adrenaline rush. But he almost never took Gregory with him at night, fearing his safety, even though Gregory was just as capable of defending himself.

On some nights Gregory would stay awake until Christophe returned. Sometimes he needed the security that the Mole was in his room with him before he shut his eyes and drifted to sleep. But he'd frown at Christophe's appearance when he walked in through the door; he was usually a mess from the work he did that night. He told Christophe to shower himself first, but Christophe suggested otherwise.

"S_i vous plait, Gregory?_" he would beg in an unChristophe-like manner as he crawled into bed and pressed himself against Gregory's bosom, "I am so tired."

Gregory would surrender at the way his face was so longing for some rest and the way he would say his name in that thick accent of his and wrap his arms around him, laughing quietly to himself.

_If only his clients would see how docile he is,_ he thought as Christophe dozed off in his arms.

After he showered and put on a fresh set of clothes, he kissed the sleeping Frenchman on the cheek and made his way downstairs for a self-made breakfast. However he grew concerned when a priceless urn of his was lying shattered at the base of the spiral staircase. He crept down slowly, so as to brace himself in case he was greeted to an unpleasant surprise. And he was greeted to that unpleasant surprise. The once immaculate living room now lay in ruins, shattered glass glistened everywhere. Expensive paintings had fallen off their walls, but only a few had been left unscathed. Stuffing from the slashed French-imported furniture scattered about the room like snow. And eerily enough, blood was splattered all over the walls and mostly the floor.

It was then when he had come to realize what was lying in the center of the chaos. At just one look of the sight, acid shot up Gregory's esophagus into his mouth.

It shimmered fresh with blood in the light spilling through the broken window; like a spotlight had been placed to feature the grotesque.

A body—a _human_ body— laid in a crumpled, bloody heap on the floor. Everything about it was mangled—limbs twisted in positions that would have possibly been very uncomfortable had the specimen been living. The right humerus was snapped in two, and one of the ends ripped through the flesh, exposing itself to the outside world. The head was turned at an unnatural angle, its mouth wide open and face completely slashed therefore rendering it unidentifiable. Its eyes would be staring right back at Gregory if they haven't appeared to have been gouged out. They were just empty black holes now.

_Holes,_ Gregory thought as a smile crept to his face. But he brushed it away immediately. There is no time to smile in a situation like this.

The blood and other fluids had dried up around the body, but the evidence of large gashes was still there. They were all throughout the body, most of them very large and very deep. Like the one in the abdomen for example; with that slash the stomach and intestines had spilled out like a crudely prepared pasta dish. Another one was in the chest area, a large hole to the left where the heart should have been. The organ in question was lying in messy heap alongside the body; it had been ripped out and squeezed, like a juiced orange.

Gregory pulled a white handkerchief out of his back pocket and pressed it against his mouth and nose to try to muzzle himself from the stench as he crouched over to examine the body. But the odor was still so strong that his eyes had begun to fill with tears. Then his stomach flipped for about the tenth time that day when he got a closer look.

If the gore and flesh wasn't the worst part, then it was how quick the decomposition process was going. Just during the period of overnight, flies had begun to gather through the broken window and some maggots have already begun to settle in, decomposing and digesting the body. A trail of ants could be seen marching into the newly created orifices. And on closer inspection of the eyes, Gregory found a few spiders inside the sockets along with something long, black, thick and moving that just made him sicker.

Gregory jumped swiftly when he felt a pair of toned arms wrap around his waist and scoop him up. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to prevent himself from screaming as he turned around. To his immediate relief, it was Christophe, who was dressed in clean clothes, (a collared buttoned navy-blue shirt of Gregory's) fresh after a steamy shower. His rare only-for-Gregory smile on his face almost made Gregory forget about the current situation at hand. Almost.

"Good morning, _cher,_" he kissed Gregory, gently sucking at his bottom lip. Gregory didn't return the favor.

"Christophe…" he nudged him away.

How could he act so…nonchalant? Did he not see the living room in shambles let alone the rotting corpse on the floor?

"Sorry about ze 'ouse," Christophe said casually, "I promise to pick eet up."

_So _nonchalant…

"Um…that's not the issue, Mole," Gregory pointed his eyes to the bloody mass behind him.

"Oh," Mole said, "sorry."

"Christophe!" Gregory gasped, appalled at the Mole's apathetic behavior.

"Ze beetch followed me 'ome last night," he explained, "I panicked."

"But you never panic, love," he said, bringing one hand to Christophe's hair.

"I didn't 'ave my gun wiz me at ze time. I just 'ad my shovel."

"But why didn't you just flip him over and detach his spinal cord with the shovel like you usually do?"

"As I said, _cher_, I panicked. 'E 'ad a gun. 'E was going to kill me."

"You never let _that_ affect your actions," Gregory said with a bit more breath than he intended.

The threat of dying was something that was always looming around Christophe. He was used to it, being a mercenary.

"Zo zen you wouldn't mind eef I died?"

At this, Gregory pressed himself to Christophe's chest. Christophe bringing up dying was always very painful for him. No, he'd never want the Mole to die, for he was the love of his life. He was always scared for him, not knowing whether the next mission he'd come back in one piece or not. But he never dared spoke against his job. Christophe loved his job very much.

"I'd mind very much, Christophe," Gregory whispered, "I'm sorry I said that."

"_Oui,_" Christophe stroked Gregory's hair gently. The two stayed like that for a few minutes more until Gregory's stomach had gotten the better of him. He collapsed on one knee to the ground and took deep breaths.

"What ees eet?" Christophe asked, panicked, as he sank to Gregory's level placing one hand on his shoulder and one on his back, rubbing it gently.

"Ugh…" Gregory groaned, his eyes toward the direction of the body.

Christophe chuckled as he brought Gregory up, bringing one of his arms around his neck for support. He stepped a few feet away to admire his work. Christophe felt he did a fine job, even though it was very sloppy. Killing was a work of art that must be perfected over time. He had always disposed of his enemies in a quick swift manner to avoid as much mess as possible. Because messes would leave clues, which would bring the police into examination. And the last thing he needed was the police force breathing down on his neck.

This killing in particular was something different. True, Christophe didn't have his gun strapped to him; he left it at the bar. And true, the only weapon at his disposal was his shovel, his signature. The criminal had followed him out of the bar, and he didn't realize it until he had already arrived home, which was the worst place a criminal of any sort would find him. Home was where Gregory was, and Christophe's number one priority during a house break-in was to keep Gregory safe. So he acted on instinct and did the best (or worst) he could do to make sure that threat was gone.

"My God, Christophe..." Gregory whispered.

"I ripped 'is 'eart out and showed eet to 'im," Christophe said in a bragging tone, "'E died flopping around like a feesh."

Gregory tried not to laugh. How _cute_ the Mole was! Even when he was describing his killing methods in the most grotesque way possible, it was hard for Gregory to restrain himself from grabbing him around the shoulders and squeezing him.

Christophe noticed his suppressed laughter.

"Do you not like eet?"

"_Like_ it? You destroyed the poor bastard," Gregory laughed, "it was completely unnecessary!"

Christophe simply shrugged.

"One criminal will not be meesed."

Gregory brought himself to glance at the body one more time. Dead or alive, criminal or not, it was still a person. It was then when Gregory felt pity for the fallen man; he was wearing a torn-up shirt and ragged jeans just like someone off the street. Just like a regular guy. Had he really been a criminal? If so, what was his motive for stalking Christophe? Perhaps he was drunk and just acting under the influence. Could he be blamed for his actions?

Gregory gasped and stumbled over when a ticklish sensation erupted from the base of his ribcage. But before he had fallen face first into the wreckage, he was pulled back up into the loving arms of the Mole. Christophe was laughing loudly at this, but Gregory was not amused.

"Don't do that!" Gregory snapped, "That's revolting and I just took a shower!"

"As did I, _cher._ But zat does not stop me, _non?_"

He picked up the decomposing body and slung it over his shoulder in a rough manner, sending rotting flesh and maggots flying everywhere. The stench of the body also grew stronger as it was lifted up into the air and Gregory returned the handkerchief to his face at once.

"You're not going to bury it in the backyard, are you?" He asked in a muffled voice.

Christophe shook his head.

"'Eavens no," he said, "I'm going to burn eet."

Gregory raised an eyebrow.

"Burn it? Where will you do that? Outside? Surely people will see the smoke and wonder what's up."

"_Non,_ not outside," he said, "in ze 'ouse."

"Why would you do that? You'll burn the house as well."

"_Oui,_ zat ees my intention. I want to get rid of ze evidence in case ze fucking police come."

Gregory couldn't remember any time where Christophe had to resort to such a drastic measure just to cover up for a small killing. On most occasions he would just go on and bury the body or plant it somewhere, making it look like an accident or better yet, framing another enemy with the death. His was so stealthy in his methods that he had even the detectives fooled. But he never went as far as to burn down an entire structure just to cover up for one person.

"Ok, what's the real reason you want to destroy the house?" Gregory smirked.

Christophe gave an equal smirk.

"I 'ave meesed France, Gregory. And I know 'ow much you'd love to live in Paris again. Like when we were children."

Gregory recalled the time when his mother transferred him to a French boarding school with Christophe and the countless holidays he would spend at his friend's home and smiled. Paris was a beautiful city. Sure it may not have been as clean as London, where they were situated at the present, but that was the beauty of it. He had some wonderful times back there. Everything was so young and so simple and he would give anything to go back and have fun again. He gave Christophe a quick peck on the lips.

"I'll get the lighter fluid, love," he purred.

XX

Aww that didn't turn out as gruesome after all, _non_? At least I didn't think it did. Just go around the part about the body and you'll have yourself a nice little piece of fluff. Please review, it would be awesome.


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